5.5.15

Snow joke .......... but a great mini adventure.

 

                             


 
                                     
They parked their small car in the parking space. The snow swept car park was dotted with vehicles, most of which, like herding animals, clustered close to the imagined protection of the ski centres buildings. The vehicle's engine's soft growl died away and the wind's high whistle filled the silent void in its place with a eerie ghost like cry of warning.

The driver smiled, excitement lighting soft hazel eyes. The smile broadened until it lighted up the cars interior with a magic to counter the winds dark menace. The passenger took a moment to enjoy that smile before, steadying himself, opening the door and stepping from the vehicle.

The wind, like a wild beast set free and starved for blood, attacked. It surrounded the passenger, it's cold fingers probing and seeking gaps in clothing as it tried to steal away that which it hated most .... the body heat, trapped in layers of clothing, which defied its dark intent and maintained life.

Quickly, rucksacks were pulled from the vehicle and donned, now was not the time to allow bodies to cool. Ahead lay the mountains, snow and adventure.

High above the touristy, nay ski bummy, town of Aviemore (which is, all joking aside a lovely little town, which if you look at it a little squinty eyed could easily be a town in Colorado butting up the Rocky mountains) stand the Cairngorms. Snow capped and wild, these Scottish mountains please the eye with a cold danger that whispers, "come try me ..... if you dare" and dare they did for this was their reason for being there.

Oh and for my American reader can I just point out Scotland is the knobbly bit of Britain at the top and it has about as much to do with the movie Braveheart as the movie Braveheart does with historical accuracy. For the record!!

Anyway ......... packs on, our hero and his trusty side kick quickly take a selfie, all smiles and confidence, watched over by the mountains and buffeted by the ice blown wind.

The path up to the foot of the hills was a unremarkable thing - yet still it held surprises as our hikers slowly walked pass red grouse among the snow sprinkled heather. Not the brightest of birds they trusted their camouflage for protection and merely sat in patient confidence less than a arms reach away.
 
                                              

Onward and upward, the path winding higher and higher and growing more snow covered as it went. Here our travellers meet up with a small pump man dressed for winter warfare and cradling in his arms a large scope ........ like a father nursing a poorly child he stood there, unsure, uncomfortable ........ a fish out of water.

"Hi ya," our hero nodded in passing, "how you doing?" Well friendly enough eh?

"Ya good," came back the fellow, his soft, slightly northern accent seemingly concerned, "I'm looking for Ptarmigan, and they told me to come up here ...... about a hundred meters pass the trail.!"

"Seen any? We saw a couple of birds back there!" Tossing a nod back down the trail.

"Those red grouse?"

"Ah ya, red eye brows ......... guess so"

Interest died then, Twitcher not he. A bird with plump breast yes, but only if the feathers are dropping from a fluffy boa!!

Onward and upward once more. Our intrepid pair climb higher. But briefly as from the rear, the smiling one, questions the route! Maps and compasses appear, GPS's glow and come alive amid the snowy landscape.

Lo there, what devilry is this? The track, plain upon the map and plain upon the ground is going the wrong way?? How can this be so??

Our hero, soldier and adventurer, his side kick Mountain Leader and well known know it all appear to be on a slightly wrong course!!

Maybe the map is wrong??

No OS seem to have been as good as their word for on closure inspection our courageous pair find they are following their planned route after all ............ only backwards.

Plan b then ........... reverse the route .......... easily done.

The new wrong track now right is followed. A pair of fellow hikers, slightly higher up cross before them and they gain confidence in their, all bit long range, companionship. Sheep like they decide these people must be on the same and correct path.

Until, once again questioning their own route having, it appears, drifted to far left, they see their distant unknown companions back tracking and wading through the knee and thigh deep snow toward them.
 
OK navigation isn't easy in the snow when the tracks are covered ............. get over it .......... but come on get a grip. More map flapping and GPS gazing .......... more compass twisting and chatter.

Then the eureka moment - the enlightening moment, where the sleepy comfortable city slicker part of the brain screams in terror bowing in humble submission before the mountain man (or women), the Wildman (or women) the ancestor (or women). The eyes open, the ears hear and the mind steps up to the mark.

They had drifted again - fools.

"Hi ya," Smiler says to the strangers who now pass.

"Hi," they echo back, accents as Italian and the first Roman ashore before Caesar's legions.

Location decided, the weather until now a pissy arse mix of wind and wet snow and ice decides to change. Step it up a gear and keep em guessing.

                                

So a new route is decided - where no track exists - they will make their own. Cut across back onto the original route they had followed and here (they hope) pick up the track proper.

Wading through patches of thigh deep snow they labour on a easterly bearing. Patches of heather, laying just below the surface, mark the best spots for footing to stray aside is to sink deep in the snow and flounder.

Crossing rivers and bogs, snow fields and rocky pastures they go ever eastward.

                                         

Then a cry, a wild scream of terror, banshee like, echoing across the snow. Our hero's heart freezes and terror grips him for a moment. What cruel fate has befallen Smiler.

He turns and sees. Smiler is down, waist deep in the snow. Purple goretex harsh against virgin snow and grey granite. The boulder bigger than a dragons arse.
 
Something is very wrong, usually Smiler is smiling. Not so now?

"You ok?"

"My foots stuck!" Fear edges that voice, the wind howls with manic like laughter. The mountain braces itself for the kill. "It's stuck between two rocks and I cant move it."

"Shit." Off comes the pack. Scrambling in the snow on hands and knees to reach his trapped buddy .

And then amid the anguish and the uncertainty a laugh bubbles to the surface as our hero sees Smiler digging through the slowly deepening snow with what? A shovel? A snow shovel? Nope, the cap of a water bottle .......... ah yes, that trusted scooper of snow since man, fur clad and primal, first ventured out across the snow in search of mammoth.
 
Bare hands scrape and dig. Snow is dragged aside. Down, down the leg to the Ankle. Here we meet Moss covered stone and the mystery reveals itself. The rocks must have had moss growing over them and over the gap between them and the snow when it fell covered the lot creating what might be considered a mini crevasse.
 
And it is into this space that Smilers foot is now wedged. Thoughts whirl ......... can smiler be freed?  Would cutting the laces of those Merrels free the foot or should our hero remove the foot entirely??
 
"If we can not free the foot," he thinks, "I'll put smiler on sleeping mats, in a sleeping bag and use the tent as a cover from the wind and snow. GPS waymark the location and go fetch help."
 
But fortune favours the brave and dragging all matter that is not rock clear finally the foot wiggles lose (with more than a little tugging)

                                 

Now is the time for laughter. Relief.
 
Yet still the mountain awaits. Maybe its dark intent is stalled, maybe forgotten.
 
Onward they go finally reaching the track they seek. The before them footprints in the snow stretch up the hillside the like imprint of a giant spine.
 
Up young man, up! And so they climb.
 
Now the Scottish weather does that which it does best and changes. Gone the wind and the driven wet, in its place a white out. Snow and hail, thicken to a fog crushing visibility.
 
His eyes are hurting now - the strain of seeking the track burning them and he thanks the Gods he had the foresight to pack a pair of sunglasses to guard against this.
 
The incline is steep, his legs burn - his arms likewise as he slowly plods and poles his way up the mountain ............ Smiler ever faithful, behind him stepping into his foot prints allowing him to break trail ahead.
 
The storm rages on. The snow, wind blown, soon fills their tracks and the tracks of those before them. Cleansing the hill, turning a Scottish Munro into, in his mind at least, The Hardangervidda or some equally distance and romantic frozen land.

                             

Speaking of Norway ........... slowly the white out lifts and there before them materialises a stone figure. A figure more Inuit than Viking .........wrapped in white, standing upon a cairn they came across an INUKSHUK. How exciting and strangely appropriate.

                          

The storm abates and there in the distance another cairn can be seen, Smiler leads covering the distance quickly. The snow here wind swept and compressed, crusted with ice and yet treacle like as they cross it. Finally the second cairn and more importantly the half way point - the point of no return.
 
Smiler says what they both think ........... should be go back and camp in the valley? The challenge is tempting but they know, now, that they lack several critical items and while they will survive they know it will be a hard won fight.
 
The mountain will be there tomorrow.
 
A coin is tossed and fate is decided. They turn back faces into the ice storm and retrace their steps back, slowly, to the Inukshuk.

                                  

Here the stop. The storm rages and our hero builds a shelter, producing coffee and hot chocolate and porridge, flapjacks and wine gums complete the chilly picnic at the top of the world.
 
Time for a quick snap of his trusted LK70 beside the Inukshuk and then they are off once more, heading down hill into the mouth of the storm.

                                 

So why did they turn back? Inexperience in that climate meant they were lacking critical kit - snow shoes, snow shovel and goggles would have been good items to include in the future for example. As would a second set of poles.
 
But also, and more importantly was the realisation that they could do it, but sheer power of will but also that common sense dictated that the discretion was the better part of valour on that occasion. 



So here ends our little tale - the moral of the story is that it is always a good thing to test oneself ... to go a little outside the comfort zone but the wise man tempers this with common sense.
 
Remember the mountain will always be there tomorrow.

                                                        

10.4.15

Ray Mears on Dartmoor



Never was a program more relevant to me now than this .............

6.4.15





Well dear reader another weekend and another trip to the Moors. April 2015, this weekend was a game of two halves as the pictures above and below show.

Bleak and windswept with 20 mph driving rain and visibility down to about 20 meters the first days hiking was a mixture of pleasure and .............. lost drills! Yep, geographically embarassed ........... but hey you know what - there was no panic! Dead proud of that, cool and calm problem solving saved the day as well as a squished corn dog sarny and a pork pie ............. these and a percy pig or three! Navigation was critical in such poor conditions but its this that sorts the men from the boys ........ 



 The next two days dawned clear. Much to my relief. Maybe these pictures will go some way to showing some of the Dartsmoors charms and maybe, just maybe help you understand part of the reason I have fallen in love with this wild rugged land.



And whose this handsome fellow?









21.3.15

Saxon warriors crush Viking invaders and plant Yew trees to celebrate

And now a few thousand years later we have Kingley Vale a rare Yew wood climbing up the chalky walls of the South Downs.

What no Moors ......... alas no ........... today I stayed local (13 miles from home) for a gentle walk around a beautiful and rare gem hidden in the folds of the downs.



12,000 Years ago at the end of the Ice age Kingley vale slowly repaired from under the crushing ice sheet that covered it. Slowly nature, with her infinte patience, re-populated the land with both beast and foliage.

Back then the area would have been part of "The Wildwood" and a tanlged mix of woodland, scrub and grasslands. Here deer and Aurochs roamed, herds of wild horses would be seen grazing the grasslands as well as predators like wolves and bears not to mention our own ancestors.






 Later in the Stone, Bronze and Iron ages early farmers cleared much of the wildwood and opened the land up for grazing - they also built hill forts and raised burial mounds such as the ones found at the Devils humps.

                                                              







The Romans came and built a temple on the hill ...........

And then in AD 895 the Norsemen came. Legend has it that a viking raiding party travelled through the vale on its way back to their ships. The Saxon warlord from near by Chichester mustered his Thegns and warriors and cut the norsemen off in the valley bottom.

The Saxons had a great victory and by way of celebration and memorial plants a grove of Yew trees at the site of the battle.


Let sleeping Dragons lay ............ 
                                 




War came the vale once more centuries laters as British and Canadian troops mustered in and around the south downs prior to the D-Day lands and Kingley Vale was no exception. The Yew woods and the skys above the vale were often the training grounds of Spitfire pilot and it is said that the Yews still bear the scares of Spitfire straifing runs ........






Memorial to a downed POLISH Hurricane pilot who died in the vale after a dog fight with a German 109

                                        

What a cracking little walk - a journey through history with some amazing views across the Solent and the Downs.


9.3.15

More from the Moors




Well dear reader, with a few days off at hand I decided, once again, to head off down to the Moors. Like a limpet to a rock I appear to be drawn back to this magical place. Why? As a self confessed Nemophilist I am not sure I can tell you. 

Certainly as a bushcrafter I wonder.

And yet, for me there is a magic there, a happiness I haven't felt for a long time. Wild and windy the Moors seem to have captured both my heart and my imagination.


This trip also had an ulterior motive - I have to confess as I wanted to test out a couple of new rucksacks and a new compass (reviews to follow) - but none the less it was as much for pleasure as anything else.


The sacks and compass were bought for the Tour De Mont Blanc hike I am planning for my 50th next year and as such I wanted to train with them all - to iron out any problems and to ensure I was happy with the kit I would be carrying.



As I say reviews of the items will follow - suffice to say for now that I am happy with them.

After much reviewing and list making the below is the basic kit I think I will take on the tour with me - and as such, is also the basic kit list I will train with for the rest of this year and two thirds of next year as I build up to the trip in September 2015.



In my Rucksack (65 - 85 litres) I pack the following


  • 3 season sleeping bag
  • bivi bag
  • Therma rest
  • Re-usable space blanket
  • Poncho
  • First Aid Kit
  • Wash kit 
  • Billy can with folding cups and Gas stove 
  • Brew kit and rations
  • 1 litre Flask
  • 1 litre Bladder
  • 1 litre Stainless Steel Water bottle
  • Knife and folding saw
  • Tinder pouch - containing tinder - lighter - fire steel - paracord.
  • 20m cordage - sharpening stone - Head torch
  • Radio
  • Map and guide book
  • Sunglasses and sun block
  • Walking poles
My spare clothing - 
  • 2 x socks
  • 1 x swimming trunks
  • 1 x Ullsfrotte zip neck top
  • 1 x Fleece Hoody
  • 1 x Down Jacket
  • 1 x Goretex Jacket
  • 1 x Wool mitts
  • 1 x Mountain cap
  • 1 x Shemagh
  • 1 x Woolly hat
  • 1 x flip flops
Carried On person - 
  • Map and Compass
  • Swiss army knife, small torch and whistle
  • Buff
  • Spoon
  • Lighter
  • Fresnel Lens 
  • Roamer 
  • Wallet
  • Lip Salve
Worn - 
  • Boots
  • Gaiters
  • Socks
  • Underwear
  • Craghopper trousers (with braces)
  • Merino t-shirt (base layer)
  • Ventile Jacket (soft shell)
  • Base ball cap 
Travel items

  • Passport
  • Tickets
  • Contact and Emergency phone Numbers
  • E111 Card
  • Phone




Quite a lot of gear but with a potential 10 day hike across the French, Swiss and Italian Alps planned I think its pretty good.



I digress ......... once more onto the Moors ........



The area visited this time was around the area of Princetown. The weather was good, the sun was out most of the time and the wind wasn't to harsh (except Saturday) so by Dartmoor standards it was tropical!! It certainly was great walking weather that was for sure.


Right from the off however things went a little awry - as I took the wrong track out of Princetown ......... lesson learnt as complacency can be a dangerous trait!! With Dartmoor covering some 368 square miles navigation is important so if your going to screw up doing it early at least means you recover your route quicker .... Fortunately for me I did and after a healthy portion of humble pie I was back on track and less cocky.



My circular route took me through a magnificent wooded area - earlier than expected i might add. As you can see from the above picture the woodland was amazing. The trees dwarfing me and lending the whole place a peaceful stillness. I could almost imagine myself in the Algonquin or some such forested scene from the Last of the Mohican's. Truly beautiful.


As a added bonus, or maybe a gift of the forest Goddess Freyja a small copse of young pines was found with a convenient opening ideally suit for a biving traveller. This became home!! And even a small stone fire place was provided.















Sleeping giants - oddly it appears the Moors dont have a recorded or oral history of stories about the rocks which cover it. By this I mean tales of Trolls and similar although I have found out about the Piskies. Trolls, which are common to the Norwegian Fjells seem strangly abcent from the moors yet to me the rocks speak otherwise, and I have to say laying upon the rocks, with Odin's Raven's Huginn and Munnin circling very low above me I quickly found my mind wandering off into childish tales of rock trolls and their friends the Dartmoor ponies ..........


Strange things can happen to a man on the Moors ........... and this trip, like my last, was a fantastic adventure.

PISKIES

THAR be piskies up to Dartymoor,
An' tidden gude yew zay there bain't.
I've felt 'em grawpin' at my heart,
 I've heard their voices callin' faint,
I've knawed a man be cruec down —
His soul fair stogged an' heavy-like —
Climb up to brawken Zaddle Tor
An' bare his head vor winds to strike.
An' all the gert black mawky griefs,
An' all the pain an' vog an' grime,
Have blawed away and left en clear
Like vuzz-bush vires in swalin' time.
An' what med do so brave a thing
As thic' white spells to tak an' weave,
But li'l piskies' vitty hands,
Or God Himself as give 'em leave ?
But tidden Him would stop an' spy
From Widdicombe to Cranmer Pule, T
o maze the schemin' li'l heart
Of every Jacky- Lantern fule !
For mebbe 'tis a lonesome rod
Or heather blooth, or peaty ling,
Or nobbut just a rainy combe — T
he spell that meks 'ee tek an' sing.
An' this I knaw, the li'l tods
Be ever callin' silver faint.
Thar be piskies up to Dartymoor,
An' tidden gude yew zay there bain't.